


What is it like?

by Count_of_Catterack



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A mix of Draco's pov and the narrator's, Draco and Pansy are confused, Hogwarts Eighth Year, How to live a normal life after traumatic events when you're eighteen and the world hates you, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Roommates, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24420004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Count_of_Catterack/pseuds/Count_of_Catterack
Summary: "It wasn’t supposed to be so excruciating. Honestly. It was just another year at Hogwarts. He had survived six years there before, so there truly was nothing to be worried or anxious about. Nothing at all."In which Draco Malfoy is confused and doesn't know how to talk to his roommate, Pansy Parkinson is unsure about the future, and Blaise Zabini is way too patient with them.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson & Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 11





	1. Hogwarts, annoying friends, and a roommate

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimer that I do not own Harry Potter or anything Harry Potter related (but honestly anyone could at this point). I am but a modest fanfiction writer and this work is my point of view on the story and the characters.

It wasn’t supposed to be so excruciating.

Honestly.

It was just another year at Hogwarts.

He had survived six years there before, so there truly was nothing to be worried or anxious about.

Nothing at all.

It was nothing except for the students who all hated his guts, who called him names when he passed by them, who looked at him with disdain, who completely avoided him, who did not even spare him a glance (these ones he quite liked), who tried to hex him, and who happened to be the people he had spent the six previous years with. Amongst them stood the sole beacons of hope in the walking catastrophy that was his daily life: a grumpy Pansy Parkinson and a not-so-grumpy Blaise Zabini. 

“When you’re done with the whole soliloquy in your mind”, Pansy said, interrupting his thoughts about that time yesterday when two Third years from Gryffindor called him a “scummy death eater” and wished he was dead (maybe he deserved that one after all he thought), “and I don’t even want to know what you’re thinking about and I’ll kick your arse if you don’t stop! But, to go back to what is truly important, could you be a dear and help your oldest and bestest friend in the world chose her outfit for her ...date?” 

“Why me? Ask Blaise, he knows far more about fashion than I do”. He looked at her and at the pile of clothing on her bed, some of it thrown to the ground during the selection process. Turpin, her “ravenclaw” roommate, was out, surely lurking around her primal environment (the Library). The Eighth year dormitories were spacious and intimate, far more customizable than the ones before, but they still shared a common bathroom (it was one of the banes of Draco’s current life). Well, the girls shared one bathroom and the boys shared another. Because fighting in a war, seeing people you love die and coming back to the exact place they died were insignificant next to “conventional and arbitrary gender separations” (Blaise's words). 

His answer did not seem to satisfy her. “I want you to do it. With me. Together”, she pouted. 

He had a feeling her attitude had more to do with him than with her outfit, he knew her too well. And she knew him too well. He sighed, “Yes, I’ll spend time with you so that you don’t have to worry about me brooding in a corner like it’s sixth year all over again. And I do need to point out that we’ll be spending time together at Hogsmeade this weekend.”

“That’s the most I’ve heard you talk in weeks!”, she squealed joining her hands, her eyes sparling with glee. The mocking tone and the overenthusiastic answer was not lost on him. “Mind doing it again so I can copy it word for word in my journal? Or should I call Blaise so that he can witness the historic scene that just unfolded in front of my eyes? ”

“You don't have a journal”, he grumbled, he was far too tired to try to bite back at her and simply watched her grin from ear to ear. She was far too pleased with herself. 

“Well, I could start one. I could call it Draco Malfoy’s Aphorisms and other Philosophical Words: a Biography of Pansy Parkinson’s Frigid Best Friend. It would be such a hit, I could make so much money out of selling it to the Prophet”, she said while giggling gleefully. 

He stared blankly at her, not even deigning to acknowledge what utter nonsense she had just uttered and decided he was better off guiding the conversation back to her date.

“You know you could wear McGonagall’s nightgown and your date would still find you… hum… charming? ”.

Pansy smirked, “Charming? Are we ten Draco? You can use the adjectives like hot or sexy you know...Oh, look at you blush, you’re so adorable when you’re embarrassed! What? No don’t run away! Come on Draco, you haven’t told me which one to pick! The button-up jacket or the casual-but-not-too-casual jumper! Draco! DRACO ! I’LL TELL BLAISE! ”. 

He could still hear her yelling as he hurried down the corridor and up the stairs to dart back to his own room. He thought he heard her grumble something about “revoking his status as her favorite best friend”. As if she did not love them both irrevocably. 

* * *

Sometimes Draco wondered about how the three of them fit together so well.

Pansy was the intense one. She grew from a quiet and pliant child with a small rebellious streak into a storm. It was as if she was constantly ready to rain down on anyone and anything, anywhere she went she rumbled with unspoken words, hidden stories, and forgotten feelings. It was as if she felt for the three of them and it was too much all the time. 

Blaise was the calm one. What he lacked in intensity and interest in life overall, he compensated for in what appeared to be thoughtfulness and maturity. He had been the adult in his life for quite some time, with an absent mother more interested in potential suitors than in the result of one of her nights with one of them. He had raised himself on his own or so he claimed. He would do anything and everything for the both of them, even if it required breaking a few laws. Draco and Pansy both knew he was a carefully crafted facade and sometimes when they stayed up too late they wondered whether the Blaise they loved was even real. 

And Draco, well, like Pansy and Blaise, he was an only child heir to a fortune, a legacy, a name, and a specific set of beliefs about the order of the world and where his place was. He had believed in it for so long. They all did. It was pleasant as a child to know that you deserved the world solely because you were born better and superior. The precious pedestal he was so precariously perched onto since childhood toppled during the war. No, it would be more accurate to say that it had been shattered and smashed to the ground into fragments so small he saw no point in collecting them. The foundations so carefully laid by his father were now rubble. After the battle, he had been left standing on ashes and all he could taste was blood. 

In the aftermath of the war, his father was sentenced to life in Azkaban, but his case had been reopened in July with some people appealing the judgement, thinking the justice was too lax. They wanted him dead. The manor was taken by the Ministry as a "way to pay the debt the Malfoy family owed to the British wizarding community" as it was the case for most of the Malfoys’ fortune. What little money his mother and him had, they shared (although he insisted on her taking a bigger part and she insisted on him taking it all). His mother kept sending him letters from France where she settled after their trials. In them, she asked how he was doing, what the weather was like there, what or he thought about blue curtains for the tiny flat she bought in Paris. Fine, rainy as always, and grey curtains would be better. She wanted him to join her there. He could not leave England. It was in part of his probation deal and she knew it. It was selfish of her to keep asking him, but he loved her too much to mind. 

Pansy, who had not taken the mark, accommodated the Dark Lord or witnessed and played a role in the torture of innocents, was left rather unperturbed by the war. Only her reputation and wealth were hurt, since Pansy’s father was going to rot in Azkaban for the rest of his life for numerous crimes. Her mother on the other hand was slowly losing her mind and focused what was left of it on her only daughter’s marriage. Over the Summer, Pansy had been dragged to numerous receptions and dates with old wizards only interested in what remained of the Parkinson’s wealth. As far as Draco could see, she happily complied with her mother’s wishes. 

Blaise was the only one who did not seem affected by the war. True to his diplomatic side (Pansy called it conflict avoidance), he had not taken a side during the war and continued to live as neutrally as possible. As for his relatives, his mother had been living in Italy for several years already and did not seem to care about the war and his well being. 

* * *

He made to open his room, but was stopped by laughs coming from inside it.

Fine, he turned around and went down to the common room. It was not as grand as the Slytherin common room, but it was welcoming enough that he did not feel as alienated from the castle as he usually did. He spotted Blaise sitting in a corner, a book open on his lap, and hesitated. He did not have classes this afternoon, he was not supposed to come out of the Common room. He clenched his teeth, stepped out of the room and into the empty corridor. 

The problem with Draco Malfoy was that he never talked about anything personal, if he could sit somewhere all alone and bottle everything up he would. At least that was what Blaise thought Draco’s problem was as he followed him out of the Common room. 

If you asked Pansy, she would have said Draco's problem was a mix of parental abuse, dreams crushed at a young age, guilt, not being able to have fun like a normal eighteen year old, repressed feelings, terrible decision making, and brooding, a lot of brooding.

Draco Malfoy would tell you that he does not have problems, that he is perfectly fine thank you. He only wished it would all stop. He did not know clearly was “it” was, and he was not that interested in finding it out.

And, according to the Prophet, and to almost all of the wizards and witches in the UK, Draco Lucius Malfoy's problem was that he was neither in Azkaban nor dead. He had received threat after threat when it was publicly announced (by the Prophet) that he was to go back to Hogwarts. Many parents refused to send their children to the school, claiming that it was not safe and that the Minister should do something about it.

The Minister did something about it. He made Draco sign a paper accepting to be put under a tracking spell which would restrict his movement within the school (by making aurors appear out of seemingly nowhere whenever he was not where he was supposed to be, that much he was not told and rather discovered during his first day of classes when a swarm of aurors bursted into the empty classroom Blaise, Pansy, and him had been sitting in), all of this with the approval of a reluctant McGonagall. Because of it he was forbidden from going too close to other houses’ common rooms. He was not supposed to wander around the halls alone outside of his class hours, and he was to be followed by aurors during his few Hogsmeade trips. Obviously he could not do like the other Eighth Years and go to Hogsmeade on every weekend, no, it would be too nice. He only had one weekend per month and the last one had been a disaster. 

He almost asked Shackelbolt if he planned on having aurors accompanying him in the showers or in the toilets, but thought it was better to not be even more on the Minister's bad side.

Despite all this, the worst of it all was the wand.

Potter, like the sorcerer with his mighty staff from old times that he was, sent him his wand back during the Summer. It still responded fairly well to him and he thought that it would have to do since he quite frankly was in financial ruin. However, the Minister of Magic had other plans and declared that him having a wand outside of the classes when it was required was too risky and the students' families would be reassured if he did not represent a threat. Draco wondered whether Shacklebolt was only trying to please families (his potential electors) or if he actually thought leaving Draco powerless among students who would love nothing more than seeing him in the Infirmary was a neat idea.

So, he was wandless most of the time (this information was not known to anyone outside of the eighth years who he shared classes with, _yet_ ) and the loss was driving him crazy. 

* * *

He was sitting on a large windowsill, looking down onto the northern inner court when Blaise caught up to him and sat opposite to him. He had brought his book with him, a dusty old thing written in latin. One time, Draco had asked his friend how he knew latin and Blaise had simply said that it was similar to italian (which he spoke fluently) and that a lot of the books at the Zabini estate were in latin. Afterwards, he foolishly thought that his friend was interested in learning more about latin, so he bought him a complete latin dictionary and owled him the gift for his twelfth birthday. Blaise never answered. Draco never dared to ask if he liked his gift or if he even opened it.

Blaise abhorred gifts and he made sure to show it to Draco and Pansy when they were seven by throwing into the fire a stuffed toy they got him. Pansy cried and Draco never looked at Blaise Zabini the same way. 

“Not sure the Ministry would trust you as a supervisor to the dangerous death eater Draco Malfoy”, he said his eyes fixed on a couple of students playing and laughing. 

“If you know you can’t be out alone, then why did you leave the Common room?”, Blaise asked.

“My room is currently occupied.” He insisted on the last word, drawling out every syllable of it. 

“And Pansy?” They both knew that Blaise heard her yelling so Draco told him about the outfit, the date, and Pansy being annoying. “She worries about you.”

Draco looked at Blaise. He looked serious as usual, but there was also something else he could not understand. “She should worry about being married to the first geriatric man with money Mother Parkinson encounters.” 

Blaise sighed and looked away from Draco for the first time since he arrived. He knew he was being unfair. His own parents had planned an arranged marriage for him and Astoria Greengrass. It only fizzled away partly because they did not fancy their daughter marrying the son of a noble who lost his estate and his status in high society, but also partly because the Greengrasses also to fled to France with both of their daughters. Then, Draco had what he called a brilliant idea. 

“She could marry you.” Blaise, startled, looked at him like a third eye just popped open on his forehead. “No, listen, listen, it could work. Her mother only wants her to marry the heir to a fortune with a nice status, which you are!”

“That’s why Pansy and I always plan things, you’re shit at coming up with ideas,” Blaise said with a little smile. “It wouldn’t work because I don’t want to marry Pansy and Pansy doesn’t want to marry me. And before you say anything about how I should help her because I’m her friend, not marrying her _is_ helping her.”

“You could be engaged and cancel it afterwards, it doesn’t have to be an official thing,” Draco said, thinking that his plans were not as bad as Blaise said. Sure, they involved a lot of “mocking Potter” or “fighting Potter”, but other than that, they worked fine. 

“Her mother wouldn’t have it. Besides, Pansy needs to stand up for herself for once. Alone. And maybe do a bit a thinking about what she wants on the way. Anyway, she’ll needs us to catch her when she’ll realise her expectations are never going to be fulfilled.”

Draco was not sure he understood his logic, and wondered why his friend had to be so cryptic, but Blaise always knew what to do (even more so recently, since he’d been the one piloting the half sunken ship their lives had become after the war), so he just defeatedly sagged against the window.

“Come back inside darling,” Blaise said softly. “And go talk to her.”

He nodded and after a final glance at the court, he walked towards the door to the common room, Blaise following him. 

Another positive thing about the Eighth Year common room was the fact that it did not require a password, but was spelled to recognize the magical signature of the ones allowed in. At least, no one, other than the Eighth Years, could put flesh-eating slugs in his bed. 

Draco told Blaise that he needed to grab a few things from his room before going to talk to Pansy. Blaise left him in the middle of the entryway to go back to the sofa in the corner of the room. He trudged up the stairs towards his room. He could still hear several voices through the door. Three voices. As he opened the door he thought that the most excruciating thing about being back in Hogwarts was not so much the ghosts, the old ones and the new ones, or the jeering and sneering or straight up hexing he had been the target of, but the fact that he shared his room with none other than the Boy Who Lived and Came Back To Life to Save Us All. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I hope you enjoyed this first chapter.  
> I did not know what I was doing when I wrote this -apart from running away from my responsibilities- but I took me time in order to finish the whole thing before posting it (I do not trust myself when it comes to finishing multi chapter fanfictions) and I really liked writing it.  
> I'm not an experienced writer, I tend to imagine stories and characters but never write them down, I'd like to change that.  
> I'm also way to serious about this stuff, my perfectionism kicked in when I wrote this and some moments don't flow like I'd like them too, but that's what practice is about.  
> English is not my first language so I hope there aren't many inaccuracies in the text!  
> 


	2. An arranged marriage, Hogsmeade, and some questions left unanswered.

The sharing of rooms was a strategic decision the headmistress had said.

A small number of students came back for their Eighth Year. Potter, Granger, Weasley, Patil, and Longbottom in Gryffindor. Boot, Turpin, Goldstein, and Corner in Ravenclaw. Abbott, Bones, Smith, and MacMillan in Hufflepuff. The three of them were the only Slytherins back at Hogwarts.

Millicent was somewhere between Wales and Scotland, from what he’d heard from Pansy, with both her parents dead, she inherited the Bullstrode fortune and bought a small house and was living there “the most domestic of lives” with her army of stray cats, Greg was in a ward in St Mungo, spending his days yelling about fires, Vincent, and darkness, Theodore was in a cell in Azkaban for crimes his father committed, and Tracy was found dead in a tiny flat a few days after the battle of Hogwarts.

Blaise had called them “a bunch of brave, smart, caring, and entitled fuck-ups”. 

At the beginning of their first day back in Hogwarts, McGonagall had told them about the room situation in person in her office - although it probably was not Potter’s first day back in Hogwarts since the battle, Draco read about him helping rebuild the castle during the Summer. Shacklebolt had been in her office with a few people from the ministry at that time and they seemed far too pleased by what was presumably one of their ideas. Since Draco was on a short leash, who better to keep him in check than the Savior of the Whole World, the very Golden Boy who Lived to Ruin Draco Malfoy's Life.

Harry Potter was going to be his own personal gaoler for the entirety of the school year. Azkaban did not look so bad compared to this he thought. 

Potter and him had a silent agreement. On the first day, when they were standing next to each other in their shared room, they briefly looked at each other and knew. They would not talk to each other, look at each other, stand on the other side of the room (the one that did not belong to them) or disturb the other’s life in any way, shape or form.

Potter did not seem to take the role assigned by the Minister at heart and prefered to ignore Draco's presence and overall existence. However, one term of the silent agreement was that no one else was allowed in the room. Obviously it did not stop the Chosen One from inviting his friends. If Draco had to listen to another of their insipid conversations and their laughs (the laughs were the worst) the Prophet would have a reason to call him a murderer. It had been two months since the start of the year and his patience was wearing thin. 

The conversation died when he opened the door, Draco kept his eyes on the ground, closed the door and walked towards his desk. He rumbled through one of the drawers in search of a quill and a piece of parchment. He heard Granger murmur something about having to go to the library and Weasley agreed, Weasley and her quietly left the room. He still could not put his hand on a single piece of parchment and had now started to quickly ransack the second drawer when Potter asked if he was looking for parchment or if he planned on destroying his desk?

Draco turned around, his right hand a tight fist around the quill he found. “Tell me, Potter, is taking pity on everyone ingrained in that head of yours or is that just the saviour complex kicking in?”

Potter looked straight at him, reached for his wand, but stopped his movement and rather chose to take a pile of paper from his own desk and hand it to Draco. 

“I’m not a charity case, Potter,” he spat out. Maybe the few shirts he owned had seen better days and he had started to ration his soap and lotion, but it did not mean that Potter, out of all people, had to pity him like this. 

Potter sighed and carried the stack to Draco’s bed before dropping it there. “Your pride really is something, Malfoy. I bought too much parchment, you can have some,” he said and after a quick glance at Draco, he left the room carefully closing the door behind him. 

Potter was always careful with him now, it was as if Draco was some sort of wild injured animal, too tired to fight, but dangerous enough to tear you to pieces. When outside of their room he was all frank big smiles combined with the usual gryffindorish friendliness, inside the room he walked carefully and silently, his friendliness subdued but only slightly because he loved to be useful and to please people (and that annoyed Draco). Potter selflessly roamed the corridors of Hogwarts, lending a hand to anyone in need, as if he thought he was indebted to the whole world and it infuriated Draco. After the war and everything the Chosen One went through, you would think that the first thing he would do would be to book a vacation on a deserted island to sunbathe and be a regular human being without any responsibilities, but no, the stupid git had to help around, help rebuild, attend trials, give interviews, and go back to being a student. Why it mattered so much to Draco he did not dare to know, but he convinced himself it had to do with him not being able to sleep because of Potter’s nightmares. 

Reluctantly, Draco took some parchment, his quill and headed to Pansy’s room. As if he had sensed that Draco was about to go see Pansy, Blaise was standing next to the door to her room. Surely, he planned on acting as a buffer between Pansy’s unfiltered mouth and Draco’s awkward apologies (he did not learn how to apologise to anyone as a child because it would mean admitting that you were wrong or did wrong and “Malfoys are never wrong”). He knocked on Pansy’s door, half expecting to be told to go to hell. Blaise did not wait for an answer, stepped in front of him and opened the door. 

At first glance, the room looked empty.

Only the very top of Pansy’s black-haired head could be seen sticking out from behind one of the two beds in the room. She was sitting on a cream carpet, her knees drawn up to her chest, and her eyes were glued to an advanced potion textbook she skimmed through with a flick of her wand. 

Blaise sat down next to her and put his right arm behind her, letting his hand rest on her waist, while Draco dropped down in front of her and laid his hands on her knees.

“Pans,” he started. “I was an idiot you needed me to support you and I didn’t and you know I don’t understand why these dates and your arranged marriage mean so much to you… “ 

She snorted, angrily flipped a page almost ripping it in the process and looked at him disbelievingly. “They don’t. I don’t care about my date. It’s just that my mother was basically begging me to accept a date and I said yes because…" she hesitated and her voice quivered a little when she spoke again. "You know, things haven’t been easy recently.” She leaned on Blaise and put her hands on top of Draco’s. 

“That’s the understatement of the fucking century, darling”, Blaise said. 

“I know. I just want to make things easier for her, she’s - Circe, she sent me an owl asking if I wanted to come visit my grandparents who have been dead for years yesterday. Two hours later she was sending me an owl wondering where Father was, and in the evening I received a letter with the details for a date with Rosier”, she looked at the both of them and smiled bitterly, “Rosier’s uncle who’s forty and who’s the creepiest man alive of course.”

“I don’t remember him being that creepy though, weird-looking and fairly eccentric for sure but not creepy”, Draco said while giving his friend a small smile which faltered when he saw her expression. 

“Of course you don’t get it. Why would you? It’s not about your little self so you don’t understand” she huffed, looking annoyed. She placed her hands on the ground and played with the frayed carpet for a while, refusing to look at anything other than her hands. 

Blaise interrupted the silence, “I think what Pansy was trying to clumsily express just now is that you can’t understand because you don’t know what being subjected to unwanted attention from older men who view you as an object is like,” Draco opened his mouth, but Blaise carried on. “Let me finish. Or at least you don't know what it's like for it to be constant, to the point of it becoming normal. Victor Rosier has always been more tactile and invasive with girls, hence the creepy part.”

Draco wanted to ask why she agreed if he made her so uncomfortable, but reconsidered. He could understand wanting to live up to your parents’ expectations and do everything possible to satisfy them, it was what being a good heir or heiress was all about. Choices were made for you and not complying meant exposing yourself to harsh punishment. It had been ingrained in theirs minds and they all dreaded failure. However, given the circumstances after the war, Draco and most of the pureblood children could not be bothered by living up to their parents’ expectations. Most of those same parents being dead, in prison or in another country did not help. Clearly Pansy was hanging onto what remained of her previous life with all her strength.

He murmured a small apology and she finally raised her eyes to look at him. “I’m sorry too, this whole “find Pansy a husband thing” makes me nervous, confused, and, angry and- and I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” 

He smiled at her, took the parchment and the quill he had brought and said, “Now, you’re going to write to your mother and say that you don’t want to go on a date with creepy Rosier.” He put the parchment on her knees and handed her the quill.

“Tell her you don’t want to date until you’re nineteen, that’ll give us a year to consider things,” Blaise said softly and he gave Draco a don’t-you-ever-dare-tell-her-about-your-brilliant-idea look. 

Pansy stared at the blank piece of paper in front of her. He could tell she wanted to accept and write that letter, but at the same time she felt the weight of her mother’s wishes

“As your friend, I can’t let you waste yourself on Rosier,” Draco said. 

Blaise nodded and added, “You’re way out of his league. And his age range.”

Pansy laughed and jokingly punched Blaise’s shoulder. “You’re both idiots,” she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue she conjured. “Alright, alright, I’ll tell her I can’t go on that date. Give me that quill before I change my mind.”

* * *

On the next morning, the three of them (and Draco’s personal auror, a stout and grumpy man who stomped behind them and mumbled things along the lines of “seven years on the job” and “babysitting”) made their way through the snowy path towards Hogsmeade. Draco was walking behind the pair, conscious of the auror tailing him and watching his every move as if each step taken was part of a plan to blow up the Ministry. Pansy was nervously chatting with Blaise, she had sent the letter this morning and was a walking bundle of nerves. 

“Should I have signed with “love, Pansy”? I feel like it was too harsh… Do you think I could still stop this owl midway?” She was anxiously looking to him. They were standing side by side, Pansy holding onto Blaise’s arm with two hands. Next to Blaise and his towering height she looked frail.

“You sent that owl an hour ago, darling. Calm down and enjoy the small-mindedness of the tiny town of Hogsmeade,” Blaise reassured her, putting his hand on hers. “See, we’re arriving at this quaint, charming, but godforsaken establishment called The Three Broomsticks. It’s usually populated by wild Gryffindors. Let us go see them in their natural habitat and enjoy something the locals call “a beer”.” Blaise opened the door of the pub and bowed excessively. 

Pansy giggled cheerfully at Blaise’s antics and stepped inside the pub. Draco glanced stealthily at the auror and sighed when he made to follow them inside. So much for a relaxing saturday. 

They sat at a table in a secluded corner, Blaise sitting opposite from Pansy and him, while the auror made sure to sit in Draco’s line of sight. It was surely only to keep an eye on him at all time, but Draco felt like he was a moving and exposed target and it made him restless. He kept bouncing his leg under the table in a manner that he knew annoyed Pansy. She put a hand on his thigh and gently squeezed it while giving him a look, a mix of desperation, annoyance, and worry. He nodded to make her understand he was alright and she carried on her conversation about brand new cosmetics with Blaise. 

Some people looked furtively at their table and at Draco because he was Draco Malfoy enjoying a pint with his friends and someone named Draco Malfoy should not have been enjoying anything. 

Draco’s mind drifted away and he found himself looking at the patrons disinterestedly. The Three Broomsticks was not bustling with life like it had been before the war. From the outside, it looked lackluster. Inside, it was warm but the warmth was only physical. Draco felt his cold fingertips warm up but that was all. There were too many memories living there for this place to feel warm. In every corner he saw himself younger sniggering with his friends and plotting stupid pranks on Potter. Being there after what happened, what he had seen and done felt too wrong, too out of place.

He felt out of place. 

Hushed whispers spread through the pub. Draco thought it must be because Potter (and his team of gryffindors) had just entered and his mere presence created a cult-like reaction in people (he liked to imagine that people threw themselves at the feet of the Savior and cherished the very ground he walked on whenever Potter strutted in public). He was partly wrong. Sure, it was Potter's table they kept looking at, but it was not Potter people whispered about. It was Brown and Patil. 

"I didn't know they were together," Pansy said in a surprisingly jugement-free tone. She was not the one for subtlety when it came to talking about Gryffindors and the pureblood upbringing did nothing to help in this specific situation. 

Patil and Brown were sitting close, Patil's left hand lovingly stroking her girlfriend's thigh as she enthusiastically spoke with Granger. Draco did not remember hearing anything about them being a couple, but surely it was because he had not paid any attention to gossips in the last few years (for obvious reasons). However, it was not necessarily surprising. They had always been so glued to each other.

As he cautiously eyed the couple he thought that he did not know what he was supposed to think about this new information. 

Any respectable pureblood would have said that it was an abomination and Draco would have repeated the same until recently. Funny how barely surviving a war on the side of murderous genocidal maniacs changed your outlook on the importance of some things. Besides, having Blaise Zabini as a best friend tended to make you reconsider some things about conventions. A lot of Pansy's clothes surprisingly found their way to Blaise's wardrobe when they were children, and they still did although it was more accessories now that Blaise was around eighteen inches taller than her. 

So Draco did not mind. Pansy on the other hand seemed to very much mind. 

"Doesn't Brown look different? I don't know, she looks bigger? Bulkier?" she asked before adding with a smirk. "Hairier?" 

Blaise looked at her disapprovingly "It's usually what happens when one is bitten by a werewolf, you would remember it if you paid attention in class or if you ever were in the presence of Greyback." 

Pansy's smile faltered and she looked down. "I know about that, it's just a joke." 

Blaise arched an eyebrow, "Not a funny one then." 

Pansy sighed and Draco intervened, "It's in bad taste surely, but I'm sure you were only gauche in you wording Pans." He scanned the room. Some people were subtler than others when it came to talk about someone who was in the same room as them. "However, what's central here is whether what they're talking about is the fact that they're two women or the werewolf part." Draco said in a low voice. 

"It's a surprise you're not the one they're whispering about." Blaise said. "It's a nice change." Draco nodded and thought that the same could be said about some of his friend's choice of clothing (at Hogwarts, Blaise seemed to be staying on the safe side and did not wear skirts at all, mostly because it was forbidden which was "a lot of heteronormative bullshit" according to his friend).

Pansy was still silently watching Patil and Brown. She frowned, "they're too open about it". Both Draco and Blaise looked at her. "I mean, why would you come here and be all handsy with your… girlfriend like that if you knew how people would react. They're both from wizarding families, they should know better." 

"Not the point Pansy," Blaise firmly answered. 

"How so? Look at Brown, she looks terrifying and terrified."

Draco looked at Potter's table. Brown’s eyes looked shifty and tired. It reminded him so much of his own. The way she held herself at the table, among war heroes, as if she did not believe she belonged there because she was no hero, because she was a monster instead was familiar to him. She felt like a monster and on most days he did too. 

"I'm sure it'll be fine. No-one'll react too harshly because of Potter" Draco said. 

"Do you really have to bring Potter into everything?" Pansy answered with an annoyed look.

"As if I did so all the time!" Draco rolled his eyes.

"I could list you the times you spoke about Potter when the topic of the conversation was not at all about him." 

"We could fill the Hogwarts library with the times you spoke about Potter," Blaise said with a small smile. 

Draco was thinking of a way to move the conversation away from Potter, but a group of four grown men (probably workers helping to rebuild shops or houses) cut his thoughts short. Two of them advanced towards Potter's table while the other two stayed behind and whispered to each other while pointedly looking at Draco. The words exchanged by the men and Patil did not reach Draco's table, it was nonetheless clear that they disagreed. All it took for the men to back away was Potter rising from his seat, his fists clenched and anger in his voice he very politely told them to "mind their own business and go the fuck away".

"Oooh, Potter snapped," Pansy said in a low voice. 

Everything happened quickly. Brown burst into tears, Patil took her wand out, Granger tried to calm Potter down, Longbottom looked worried (probably more for the potted plant he had brought and which was sitting on the pub's table in front of him), and Weasley looked redder than his hair and was trying to sneak out of his seat to deal with the men on his own. One of the men threw the first punch that landed straight in Weasley's jaw. (Draco supposed the man chose to hit Weasley first because he was less threatening than Potter, who was afterall pretty much untouchable). It was not uncommon for some wizards to use their fists, especially when they were in a small space, or so Draco had heard, aside from the one time Granger punched him in the face, he had not seen a lot of fist fights. 

He looked at the auror. He was eyeing the scene calmly, seemingly not bothered by what was happening and not inclined to put an end to it. Draco winced when he saw Potter's fist land on one of the men's nose. Granger looked positively furious and was screaming "violence is not an answer" and "why can't you have a polite and constructive conversation with people?".

Apparently the two men left behind had decided in the mean time that Draco had to be involved in whatever this was. As they reached their table and one of the men grabbed Draco's collar and forced him to his feet, said man suddenly fell down on the ground bringing Draco in his fall. Draco realized it was Blaise's intervention (in the form of a well aimed kick) that had him crashing on the stone floor. From the ground the fight looked hectic. A voice, Rosemerta's voice, echoed through the pub and ringed in his throbbing head. The shuffling of feet stopped and he felt himself be holstered on his feet. He hastily dusted his robes and thanked who he thought was Blaise because that person's hand had still not left his elbow. 

Potter's hand was gripping Draco's elbow, he asked Draco is he was alright and left after a worried Pansy started anxiously touching his body to check for injuries. 

He heard Blaise's low voice say that they should go out and he was escorted out by Blaise while Pansy gathered their things and started a vivid conversation with the auror.

The three of them (plus the auror) found themselves in front of The Three Broomsticks with Potter's little (disheveled) band and with the four men.

Rendered speechless by the shock and the headache, Draco watched as Granger coughed pointedly looking at the auror who grumbled and begrudgingly told the four men that they would be arrested if they instigated another fight. Not without throwing a few insults their way, the four men disappeared into a nearby alley. 

The two groups stood awkwardly in silence before Granger decided to put an end to their suffering. "Alright, it was nice to see you here, but I think we've going to go now, Parvati are you alright with apparating with Lavender?" Patil nodded and the both of them left. Granger hesitated and looking at Draco she said, "we're going to stop by the Infirmary for these idiots, it seems you hit your head pretty hard, you should come with us."

"We're coming with him." Pansy said. 

"Oh. Yes. Of course you can come with us," Granger said awkwardly, casting a glance at Potter who simply nodded.

Draco thought his two friends would firmly disagree ( _he_ would firmly disagree if his head did not hurt so much) but they followed Granger, Potter, Weasley, and Longbottom up the path to the castle. The sound of their feet crunching in the fresh snow was only sporadically interrupted by Weasley asking Draco's auror questions about his job, and if he thought he was fit for being an auror. Pansy snorted once and refrained from doing so again after she met Granger's gaze (that woman could be scary sometimes). 

When he passed in front of Potter, Draco murmured a "thank you" that Potter probably did not hear.

* * *

That same evening, after a lot of fuss from Pansy who thought Pomfrey had some gut to say that Draco was fine when he slammed his head against stone (she was prone to exagerations), Draco was back to his room. Pansy had insisted on him sleeping in her bed if he did not feel well and Blaise had said it was better that he slept in his bed since the bathroom was closer. While Draco was grateful for their offers, he declined them both, claiming that he was well enough to sleep on his own.

The lights had been off for some time in the room and Draco had been staring at the motifs in the canopy, when he cleared his voice and whispered a question to the silence. 

“Potter, you’re friends with Patil, right?” Draco waited for an answer and thought he had not listened carefully enough and Potter was already asleep when he answered. “Which one?”

“The gryffindor one.” Draco bit back the “obviously” hanging onto his lips. He did not dare to turn his head for fear of meeting Potter’s eyes and lose what little courage he was currently hanging onto. 

“Hm. Yes, we’re friends, why?” Potter sounded oddly inquisitive. 

He took some time to answer, considering how to phrase his next question. He needed Potter to answer so he tried his best to not sound insulting. The things was that insulting Potter was something he did instinctively. 

“How did you know about her,“ he swallowed and whispered the next word, “ homosexuality?”

“I didn’t,” Potter said and he seemed to know that his answer was not satisfying Draco because he carried on. “Lavender and her were always close, and one day they just said that they were together, had been for a while, and… that’s all.”

“It can’t be all, Potter. You make it sound like they woke up one day and decided they were going to engage in homosexual behaviours,” said Draco, confused. 

“It’s nothing different from heterosexual behaviours you know.”

Draco huffed, “it’s different and even if you were raised by muggles you must know where wizards stand on this issue.”

Potter did not answer and the room fell silent. The snowstorm raging outside irregularly hit the windows of their room in a way that would usually help Draco to fall alsleep.

"Anyway, why are you asking me that? Can't you talk about this with Zabini?"

"Why would I talk about Patil and her girlfriend with Blaise?"

"I don't know, maybe because he's sort of gay ?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "Blaise is not gay Potter. And as he would tell you that "assuming someone's gender based on the way they dress is the most despicable thing ever"." Draco was sometimes proud of how well he could channel his inner Blaise Zabini.

"I don't do whatever you said," Potter hastily answered, as if he was afraid Draco would think he was a bigot. "Hermione saw him snog a ravenclaw boy during sixth year." 

Draco thought about retorting that Granger should mind her own business and not roam around the halls looking for unsuspecting students who were having a fine time, but he was stopped by a single thought. He did not know anything personal about Blaise. Or at least, anything personal enough for it to matter, or for it to have been said by Blaise himself. There was nothing about Blaise's personal life that he knew, he did not even know if his best friend had dated anyone, if he had loved anyone, if he had had his heart broken, or if there was somenone he had even longed for. The last bit was hypocrital coming from Draco Malfoy who never discussed feelings with anyone other than himself and the canopy of his bed when he could not sleep and Potter's regular and soft snoring was the only thing he could hear and think about.

"I don't know. I don't know Potter! In fact, I know nothing about my own best friend. Is this what you wanted to hear?" Draco turned his back to Potter and decided that he did not care if it made it look like he was pouting. He was mad at himself for not realising how little he knew about his friends. 

Draco heard Potter move in his bed, probably to do the same as him, and soon afterwards a voice arose to put an end to their midnight conversation. "Good night, Malfoy."

He did not answer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I hope you are doing well, thank you for reading this chapter!  
> An attempt at understanding a system other than the metric system was made in this chapter, I have no idea if that's the right length but there's a around 45 cm difference in height between (tall) Blaise and (smoll) Pansy.  
> Also, an attempt at action and description of action was made in this chapter, it's not really my strongsuit but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway!  
> The next chapter will either come next week or after the first few days of July (I have a big exam on July 1 and 2, so I probably won't have time to do anything other than study).  
> Have a nice day!


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